Keep Her Close
by writewhatyouwantto
Summary: The sight that greets them is enough to knock the air out of anyone. Finn, a rifle in his hand. Murphy, saying he's gone too far. Bodies, littering the ground like leaves. But the words that deliver the killer blow? 'I found you.' Bellarke if you squint. One-shot about what happens after Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia find Lincoln's village.


**A/N: Okay, this is my first The 100 published story, I wrote this while procrastinating. While I'm a Bellarke shipper (and if I get the story I'm writing finished, I'll upload the Bellarke-heavy story, no promises though) this is just focused on what happens after Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia find Finn and Murphy in the Grounder village. I think that the line 'I found you', combined with Thomas McDonell's delivery was script-writing genius. I freaking love this show so much right now. If you want to fangirl over the hug with me (let's face it, you know which one) with me, you know where to find me.**

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><p>Breath staggered into Clarke's lungs as her eyes took in the carnage before. Air jumped down her throat and it deserted her all too quickly. Finn was there, his eyes shining with a sick relief. He stepped towards her, and she stepped back, like two repellent magnets. Her shoulders trembling, she could only look at what surrounded her. Bodies. Twisted, still bodies, their eyes empty and their blood spread over the ground. Too many to comprehend.<p>

'I found you,' Finn breathed, and her spine bucked as she shivered. He sounded insane. A gun in his hand, lifeless people littering the ground, and _he found her_. He wasn't even blinking. His eyes were focused on her like..she couldn't describe it. Relief, joy lined every inch of his face, yet it was...wrong. It was all wrong, everything was so wrong.

She shook her head.

Never had she been terrified by a look of love - that was how Finn was looking at her, but this was no love on the battlefield, this was a look that didn't understand why she was sick to her stomach. He expected her to hold him, kiss him, love him right now, and all she could do was shudder, flinch from his bloodied hands and turn her gaze from the lips that uttered those god-awful words. _I found you._

She ran past him, taking care to dodge around him, and hurried towards the first body. Still. She tried another, and another, but it was futile, their hands didn't even twitch and their eyes could only stare. Distantly, she heard Bellamy bark out an order to the others to search for survivors. Tears that didn't reach her eyes quaked through her bones, and her shoulders heaved unsteadily, shaking. Finally she found one, a bullet wound in his arm. His gaze clutched at hers, his mouth slick with blood. He tried to form words, but blood had blocked his through and he gargled, blood spattering his jaw.

She hears soft footfalls beside her. She looks at Bellamy, and she shook her head before either of the men could ask. There was nothing she could do. Bellamy coughed, kneeling down.

'We should do something,' he muttered, unsure of what to do with himself. The dying Grounder looked at them, despairing. Clarke nodded slowly. 'Can you sing?' Bellamy's question was met with another shake of her head. Today, she couldn't sing somebody to sleep. Words could barely even come through her lips, let alone a tune. Bellamy apparently understood this, and his shuffled closer to the Grounder.

'Do you know much about Ancient Greece?' he asks quietly. The Grounder closed his eyes, his limbs beginning to twitch erratically. 'When children were born,' Bellamy continued, 'they'd hang a wreath of some sort outside their house. Olives for boys, and linen for girls. To celebrate the birth of their child.'

The Grounder shuddered, breathing heavily, but somehow Clarke found herself believing that he was listening.

'A few days later, I...I can't remember how many, the father would run around his whole property with the baby, and this meant that he was accepting the child as his. It was a pretty big deal,' Bellamy's voice cracked, but he coughed and steadied himself. 'I tried to do that when my sister was born. My mother was a seamstress, so I hung a wreath outside the door, in some sort of cloth. I wrote 'OB' on it, her initials, and pretended it was an 'Open for Business' sign for my mother's work, but really, it was for my sister. I wanted to celebrate her life.'

The Grounder's breathing was slowing by then, drawing in longer breaths. Suddenly, his hand gripped Bellamy's clenched fist. Bellamy didn't flinch at the motion, but his expression softened even more.

'The Ancient Greeks had a thing for wreaths,' he went on after a pause. 'Laurel ones were used for academic accomplishments. This god, Apollo, loved a Nymph called Daphne, but she didn't love him back. To never be with him, she asked to be turned into a laurel tree, but Apollo loved her so much anyway that he declared laurel wreaths were a symbol of honour. Now, I don't know about you,' he paused. 'But I think there's something pretty spectacular in that. Apollo didn't care about what had happened between them. He didn't care that she didn't feel the same way. He loved her even when he could never have her, and he loved her so much that he created a tradition around the girl he cared about. You know, he wore a laurel wreath in memory of her, just to keep her close.'

Silently, the Grounder's mouth turned up at the corners. Clarke's eyes widened slightly at the subtle relief in the terror around them. The man on the ground was now surrounded by blood-soaked terrain, and only the slightest rises and falls of his chest told her that he was still alive. Bellamy smiled back at the man, their hands still clasped together. _Comradeship. _The word came unbidden, and though Clarke knew it wasn't wholly right, she couldn't bring herself to argue with it.

They remained, the three of them, locked in that position, neither of them daring to move. There wasn't a moment when the final wisps of life were extinguished, not one that they could see. Bellamy noticed before Clarke did, laying down the man's hand delicately on the ground, even though nothing would hurt him anymore. Clarke watched the careful way Bellamy leant back from him, not wishing to disturb the earth beneath his feet. She exhaled quietly, and Bellamy looked at her, clueless as to what to do. He swallowed, yet his eyes remained dry, not as a mark of his indifference, but his strong nature.

'Clarke, we should get moving,' he breathed. She nodded slowly, yet before she stood up she reached over and gently pushed the man's eyes shut. Bellamy's hand caught hers as it moved away, and pulled her to her feet. Together, they walked away, and for the first time that she'd noticed, Bellamy looked over his shoulder at what he'd left behind.

Finn was standing beside Murphy, trembling. He stretched out an arm towards Clarke, as though to put it around her shoulders. 'Clarke, I -'

Suddenly she froze. 'Is that my watch?' she breathed. Finn glanced down at it, and hastened to take it off his wrist. He held it out to her, panting a little.

'I found it -'

'How could you?' she shook her head, her voice hot. 'How could you do this, _murder_ these people while _wearing my father's watch_?'

Finn paled a little.

'I don't know how you could have done this Finn,' she spat, 'but if you _dare _to think that this is somehow all okay, then you're sick! You're a murderer!'

The words hung in the air, almost echoing in the silence. Finn looked desperate. 'Everything I did,' he whispered, 'I did because I needed to find you.'

Clarke spasmed. 'How can you justify this by saying that?' she yelled. 'You picked up a gun, and you shot people just because they were there! They weren't going to hurt you, they didn't have anything to do with how you wanted to find us! They were just _there_, and now they're lying _there _dead!'

'Clarke...' Finn whispered, and she almost launched himself forward at him, her hands braced to claw at him, when Bellamy and Octavia grabbed her arms, holding her back. She struggled against their grips for a second.

'One of them was fifteen,' Octavia hissed, shaking her head at Finn. 'Fifteen years old, Finn, he had no reason to die.'

Clarke suddenly pulled free of them, but instead of attacking Finn she fled from the village, running as fast as she could. Bellamy made to wale after her, but his foot landed on something hard. Looking down, he saw her watch, lying dirty and bloodstained on the ground. Gingerly, he picked it up, the tick clear in his ears over the pounding of his heart rate, and he tucked the watch away in his pocket. Octavia began to walk after Clarke, but Bellamy held out his hand, blocking her way.

'I don't think so, O,' he shook his head. Octavia looked ready to argue with him, but a look from Bellamy silenced her. He was right.


End file.
